A
personification of that odd
feeling you might get when you touch a piece of metal, and you think you need to
wash your hands, but at the same time can't find an excuse to, they just smell a bit like iron now.
"Hey, Vincent, why're you heading to the
bathroom stall?"
"Had to touch
one of those door handles in the hallway."
"So? We disinfected them an hour ago."
"Yeah, but now I frankly feel like a Tin of Weston."
"Fine,
go on then."